


how to end a life

by mariss_ugh



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Hospitals, M/M, Minor Character Death, One Shot, Season/Series 11
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-16
Updated: 2021-03-16
Packaged: 2021-03-24 07:54:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,228
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/30069084
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mariss_ugh/pseuds/mariss_ugh
Summary: The calls start early on Friday morning.Or an alternate take on "Ian and Mickey take on all the responsibility for Terry."
Relationships: Ian Gallagher/Mickey Milkovich
Comments: 12
Kudos: 120





	how to end a life

**Author's Note:**

> I thought of this idea when I read the description for 11x08, and I meant to finish this before the episode proved me wrong. But honestly, actually finishing this instead of leaving it as yet another WIP is an accomplishment in itself. 😂 
> 
> (Oh, and if Shameless can be inconsistent with showing covid, then I can pretend like new hospital protocols about visitations don't exist.)

_3:37 am_

The calls start early on Friday morning. 

They sleep through the first two, having only fallen into bed exhausted a couple hours earlier. But they wake for the third—Ian first even though Mickey’s closest to the offending phone, its vibrations against the bedside table echoing in the surprising silence of the Gallagher house.

“Mick,” Ian whines, nuzzling his nose between his husband’s shoulder blades. “Phone.”

Mickey reaches out for it blindly, almost knocking everything else off the table. He taps the screen until he successfully hits the answer button. “Fuck off,” he growls into it, hitting the power button to end the call. He tosses it behind him without ever checking to see the name of the caller, and it lands near Ian on the bed. “You, too,” he says, pulling away from Ian just enough so Ian’s cold nose is no longer in contact with his skin.

Ian pulls Mickey back towards him, and when he doesn’t get any resistance, he gets back into the same position, deciding to take it a step further by seeking out the warmth of Mickey’s calves with his toes. “But I’m cold. And you’re warm.”

Mickey can practically hear the pout he knows is on Ian’s face. “Do I look like a space heater? Get another blanket,” he grumbles, but doesn’t make any effort to push Ian away. Instead, he leans back into him more.

“Mmm, too comfy,” Ian protests.

“Damn sap,” Mickey mutters, no real heat behind the words.

The phone rings again, and Ian reaches behind him for it.

“Ignore it,” Mickey tells him, but Ian’s fist closes around the phone just as it stops buzzing.

“Shit,” Ian mutters, scrolling through the notifications on the screen, all from one of Mickey’s cousins next door. “That’s the fourth call from Sammy.”

“Put it on silent,” Mickey tells him, scrunching his pillow under his head to get more comfortable. “Fucker can wait ’til morning.”

“If you’re sure…” Ian agrees reluctantly, but before he can, the phone vibrates again. Shorter this time—a text message. “Fuck.”

“What now?” Mickey rolls over on his back to look at Ian. The expression on his face stops him short. “What is it, Ian?”

Ian holds out the phone to him. “Sammy texted. It’s– Mickey, it’s your dad.”

-

_6:52 am_

It took over an hour of debating in bed for Mickey to decide what to do. His first instinct was to roll over and try to fall back asleep. And he did, but he did it without saying a word—not even a snarky remark in an attempt at showing his indifference—an immediate red flag for Ian, who knows his husband better than he knows himself most days.

Instead of letting Mickey ignore the situation, which would only lead to it festering inside of him to deal with on his own, Ian put a gentle hand on Mickey’s shoulder. And when Mickey rolled back over to face him, Ian led the difficult discussion, talking out their options.

Now, standing in front of the hospital entrance, Mickey’s not sure he made the right decision. His phone buzzes again with another text from Sammy asking how long they’ll be. Mickey knows his cousin is annoyed he’s had to wait this long, but screw him. He’s lucky Mickey even decided to come at all; he definitely wasn’t going to rush over, not when he had to make sure Ian didn’t skip his pills and breakfast for this.

“Ready?” Ian asks.

“We should go home,” Mickey says, crossing his arms.

“We can if that’s what you want.” Ian shrugs, putting his face mask on and handing one to Mickey.

Mickey’s face scrunches up in annoyance as he takes the mask. “I don’t know what I want,” he says, knowing Ian knows that. “Why can’t I just not care? He hasn’t cared about me a single day of my life.”

“Because it’s complicated.” Ian lets out a humorless laugh. “And because you’re better than that,” he adds, echoing the sentiment he shared with him after Mickey helped Terry into the house the day he was brought home.

“Let’s get this shit over with,” Mickey finally says, putting on his mask, and Ian leads him inside to the receptionist.

Ian continues to take the lead once they’re inside, asking for directions to Terry’s room. “No, no. It’s v-i- _c-h_ ,” he tells the receptionist when she has trouble looking up Terry in the system.

“Got it,” she says, fingers flying across her keyboard. “Okay, you’re going to take a left down that hallway, get on elevator B to the fourth floor…”

Mickey tunes out the rest of her instructions, knowing Ian’s probably taking down notes. He scans the rest of the reception area, half expecting there to be Milkoviches covering every inch like the front lawns flanking the Gallagher house. But he knows better. They’ve all probably scattered, not wanting to take responsibility.

“C’mon, Mick.” Ian cups Mickey’s elbow briefly to get his attention, then cocks his head to the left. “The ICU is this way.”

They’re silent all the way to Terry’s room where they find Sammy waiting outside in the hallway for them.

“What happened?” Ian asks. In all of Sammy’s calls and texts, he only said that something happened to Terry and Mickey needed to get to the hospital.

“Shit, I don’t know,” Sammy says, rubbing his hand along the back of his neck. “Terry was complainin’ about being hungry, and Zofia tried feedin’ him, but then he was choking and couldn’t breathe. Didn’t you hear the ambulance?”

“It’s the South Side,” Ian says humorlessly. “There’s always sire–”

“–Wait, why the fuck was Zofia feeding him? Where was the home nurse?” Mickey cuts off Ian to question Sammy about the nurse he hired to take care of Terry after it was clear his cousins weren’t prepared to do it themselves.

“Uh, Alek sent her home so we could keep the money.” Sammy takes a subconscious step backwards.

“Keep the– what the fuck? The money was going straight to the nursing agency, dipshit. Like I’d hand over any money to you assholes.”

“We didn’t know that,” Sammy says weakly. He looks past Mickey towards the exit. “Now that you’re here, I’m going to go.”

“Why does he gotta be my problem?” Mickey complains. “You’re the idiots who did this.”

“And you’re next of kin, sorry.” Sammy shrugs, patting Mickey on the back as he walks past him.

“Real nice,” Mickey calls after him, flipping him off.

Ian lets out a low whistle as they watch Sammy pick up his pace. “I’ve never seen a Milkovich look so scared.”

Mickey scoffs. “He’s probably afraid of retaliation. The family is still on the hunt for whoever shot Terry, and now these idiots let him…” He trails off, shaking his head. “Fuck.” Mickey punches the wall, drawing a few glances from nearby nurses. “Fuck,” he repeats, but Ian grabs his hand before he can hit the wall again.

“We could try and call…” Ian pauses, at a loss.

“Exactly,” Mickey mutters bitterly.

His brothers all left the South Side for good the first chance that they could, not that he blames them. It’s been awhile since he heard from them, and he’s not even sure if they heard about Terry’s condition at all. He sure as hell isn’t going to drag Mandy into this; she’s the only one who deserves more than Mickey to never have to deal with Terry again. That just leaves Mickey. At least when Terry was shot, Sandy stepped in. But now she’s gone, having run off after her explosive fight with Debbie.

Ian squeezes Mickey’s hand, reminding him that it’s not just him alone— it’s him and Ian. “Do you want to go inside?”

Mickey shakes his head, looking through the window into his father’s room. He can just make out the shape of his father, cocooned under blankets. “We can wait for the doctor out here.”

_-_

_10:23 am_

_“I’m sorry, Mr. Milkovich. There’s no brain activity.”_

The doctor’s words echo around in Mickey’s head. He’s sitting next to Terry’s bed, but he can’t bring himself to look at the old man, so instead he stares at the machines he’s hooked up to proving that even though Terry Milkovich may be brain dead, he’s still very much alive.

Ian enters the room and pulls up the remaining chair next to Mickey’s. “Pretty sure that’s the first time someone told her that her patient didn’t have any brain activity before either,” he says, putting a hand on his husband’s knee.

“Wasn’t lying.”

“I know, Mick.” Keeping one hand on Mickey’s knee, Ian reaches into his back pocket to pull out a handful of pamphlets. “They gave me some info on our options.”

After Terry’s doctor explained to Mickey and Ian that Terry’s brain was starved of oxygen for an extended period of time, they had to wait while more tests were run to confirm the extent of damage. 

Ian holds out the pamphlets. Mickey glances but doesn’t move to take them, so Ian’s wrist falls limp. “It’s ironic,” he says.

“Oh yeah, Alanis? How so?” Mickey raises a brow at his husband.

Ian chuckles, surprised at Mickey’s reference. “After all the people he’s probably choked over the years. After–” He hesitates. “After what he did to us. Now he’s the one with the breath knocked out of him.”

“Fucking karma is what that is.” Mickey grabs the pamphlets from Ian. “So what are our options?”

“Well, the respirator is the only thing keeping him breathing and his heart beating right now,” Ian starts to explain. “He’s never going to come back from this.”

Mickey sucks in a breath at his husband’s declaration. _He’s never going to come back from this_. There was a time long ago—when he was too young to understand what a monster Terry was and craved attention and validation from him—when he would’ve been crushed under the weight of those words. And then as he grew older, he would’ve given up anything other than Ian to hear Terry was never coming back.

But now faced with that as a reality instead of just a dream, he feels sick. It makes no sense to him; he should be thrilled he has a chance to be rid of the bastard. But he knows he’ll never truly be rid of Terry, whether he’s next door or six feet under. The memories—no matter how free Ian makes him feel—will last long after Terry takes his final breath. Part of him will always be looking over his shoulder, even if the threat is gone.

“Respirator? That the, uh, plug we gotta pull?” Mickey looks down at the pamphlet on top. “Accepting it’s time to say goodbye to your loved one,” he reads off the cover, rolling his eyes. “They got one of these about saying goodbye to your abusive, homophobic, racist, sexist prick of a father?”

The corner of Ian’s lips curls upwards in a smirk. “Probably have to find a therapist in the psych ward for that.”

-

_1:05 pm_

Ian convinces Mickey to take a break from Terry’s room to head to the cafeteria for lunch. Neither is interested in looking around—or even all that hungry for that matter—so they grab some pre-made sandwiches, a couple bags of chips, and drinks. They find a table isolated from everyone else, and pick at their lunch. 

Life seems to be moving on like usual at home. Debbie texts the family group chat looking for someone to watch Franny. Kev calls Mickey, probably to confirm their next scheduled delivery.

“Who would even want his organs, anyway?” Mickey questions. “They’re probably pure poison.”

After telling the doctor they wanted to take Terry off life support, they were forced to talk to a healthcare social worker about their decision and to go over the next steps including whether or not they wanted to donate Terry’s viable organs. Neither of them is a stranger to talking to a social worker, not by a long shot. But it’s the first time it’s like this instead of because some do-gooder filed a complaint on their behalf, not realizing they’d be even worse off in whatever foster or group home they’d temporarily be forced into.

Ian proposed their lunch break be a complete break from talking about the situation at hand, just long enough to recharge and get back into it fresh. But it’s clear Mickey’s not going to be able to do that, so Ian steps into the role of devil’s advocate. “It’d be something good to come from Terry’s life for once.”

“Gee, thanks,” Mickey mutters, but he gets it. Whatever _good_ Mickey is—not that he’s sure there’s much of that in him, no matter how much Ian says so—is in spite of Terry. “Terry would be saving lives,” Mickey says, the words sounding foreign in his mouth.

“First time for everything,” Ian quips.

If Mickey’s being honest, it’s the thought of parts of Terry continuing to live on that’s giving him pause. While others might find comfort in the thought of their loved one living on in a sense, all it does is fill Mickey with panic. Not that Terry is his loved one.

“This is stupid.” Mickey crumbles up the plastic wrapper from his sandwich and tosses it on his tray. “Let’s just get this over with. We don’t need to act like Terry is someone to fucking mourn over or some shit.” His face betrays his words.

“It’s okay if you are,” Ian says simply. “You know, mourning.”

Mickey pushes the tray away from himself, shrugging noncommittally. “Bastard doesn’t deserve it.”

“And you didn’t deserve him. So mourn the fact that you never got a real father. Mourn the childhood memories you should’ve gotten instead of all the fucked up shit that happened. It’s how I felt with Monica...” Ian trails off. “It’s how I’m feeling now with Frank.”

Mickey opens his mouth to reply, but Ian holds up a hand to stop his protest. “I’m not trying to turn this into a competition of whose parents fucked who up the worst. Terry wins that title hands-down. But I know what it’s like to lose a parent and feel conflicted. After how little they were there for us, it should be easier to accept them being gone. But yet here we are.”

Mickey murmurs his agreement. “But yet here we are,” he repeats.

“Let’s just finish lunch,” Ian says, holding out his bag of barbecue chips. He shakes the bag until Mickey reaches in to grab some. “We’ll go back in with a clear mind.”

“Yeah, okay,” Mickey agrees, but he knows there’s nothing that can clear the storm brewing in his mind.

-

_3:41 pm_

Ian’s stint as a fake EMT thanks to Paula aside, the only glimpse Mickey has gotten to see of that part of Ian was in the days leading up to Mexico. Early on in prison and during the Paula fiasco, Ian would talk about his old job, but he hasn’t talked about it at all since then. Maybe because he’s afraid Mickey will think he isn’t happy now or because he just doesn’t want to dwell on the past. But Mickey knows Ian misses that part of his life. It’s clear every time they’re in the ambulance and nostalgia washes over Ian until he schools his features. And it’s clear now as Ian listens intently to the doctor explain the process of taking Terry off life support. 

Mickey’s not paying attention to the doctor or to the questions Ian is asking. Instead he focuses on his husband’s face. His freckles, less present now than when they were kids, are barely noticeable under the harsh hospital light. There’s dark circles under his eyes, the day clearly taking a toll on him. Mickey has no doubt he probably has a matching set.

“Mick?” Ian raises an eyebrow like he knows what Mickey was thinking. Probably does. “They asked if we’re ready.”

Mickey opens his mouth, but nothing comes out so he clears his throat. “Y-yeah,” he answers gruffly.

“It’ll only take a few minutes,” the doctor tells him. She waits until Mickey acknowledges that he heard her before she starts to turn off the machines. 

The monitor tracking Terry’s heartbeat goes blank as it’s shut down, and Mickey thinks that’s it, he’s gone. But Ian whispers in his ear that the ventilator is still hooked up and points to Terry’s chest, showing that it’s still moving. It’s fitting. Terry’s not gone yet, but there’s no proof of him having a heart.

“That’s the ventilator now,” Ian says as they watch the doctor.

Mickey can’t bring himself to look at Terry’s face, so he focuses on his chest. It rises one last time, falling as his final breath leaves his body.

Terry Milkovich is dead. And it feels nothing like Mickey always thought it would feel whenever he imagined this moment.

-

_7:08 pm_

Liam’s the only one home when they get there. He’s sitting on the couch, flipping through the channels on the television. 

“You alone?” Ian asks, dropping down on the couch next to him, pulling Mickey along with him. 

Mickey doesn’t usually feel the need to sit this close to his husband all the time, especially when the other Gallaghers aren’t filling up seats. But it’s comforting right now, something Ian seems to have realized before Mickey even picked up on it himself.

“Yeah, everyone took off after dinner,” Liam answers. “I saved you a couple pieces of lasagna before they could finish it off. They’re in the microwave.”

“Thanks, kid.” Mickey attempts a smile. Dinner is the last thing on his mind, but he still appreciates Liam looking out for them. He’s used to it with Ian, but he’s just starting to get used to the Gallagher siblings treating him as one of their own.

Liam looks between the two of them. “Is everything okay?” he asks, wise beyond his years.

Ian looks at Mickey hesitantly before answering. “We were at the hospital today. Mickey’s dad was on life support.”

“W-was?”

Mickey swears Liam shrinks into himself as he stumbles over the word. He looks at Ian, who only shrugs at his brother’s reaction. “Yeah, had to pull the plug. You don’t have to worry. It won’t make things next door any crazier.”

“That’s not it,” Liam says quietly, shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Mickey.”

Mickey snorts. “Don’t be.”

“But it’s my fault,” Liam says, so softly Mickey and Ian almost miss it.

“Nah.” Mickey shakes his head, not following Liam’s logic. “That’s on my idiot cousins.”

“But I’m the one who shot him!” 

It takes a few seconds for Liam’s outburst to register with Mickey and Ian. Ian swears under his breath.

“You?!” Mickey’s eyebrows shoot up. He’d wondered, of course, who shot Terry. Of all the possibilities he came up with for who finally took down Terry Milkovich—someone looking to take out the competition, a victim looking for revenge, a random neighbor trying to take the trash out of the neighborhood—the youngest Gallagher never crossed his mind.

“Where did you get a gun?” Ian asks, and Mickey knows he’s wondering if Liam got his hands on one of theirs. He’s not sure what answer Ian was hoping for, though, because he seems to only tense more at Liam’s answer.

Liam avoids their eye contact. “Carl. I was afraid of being home alone with Mickey’s family next door. It was an accident, I swear. I went outside and got scared so I shot a warning shot into the air. I didn’t expect to hit anything. I’m so sorry, Mick–”

“–Stop,” Mickey says firmly, and Liam must misinterpret because he looks even more panicked than during his confession. “It’s okay,” he says, gentler this time. It’s not really, but he’s not about to tell Liam that. “Are you okay?” 

“Dunno, but worrying about selling the house has been distracting me,” is Liam’s reply, and Ian puts an arm around him, looking back at Mickey.

Mickey understands everything he’s trying to say with that look. They’ll talk about how to help him later. Concern for Liam’s safety comes next. “Have you told anyone?” Mickey asks. 

“Just Carl.”

“Good. Keep it that way.” Mickey doesn’t want to scare the kid, but he also wants him to understand the dangerous consequences that could come from the truth getting out.

“Wait, what do you mean you’re worried about selling the house?” Ian asks after Liam promises he won’t say anything.

“I don’t know where I’m going to live,” Liam points out as if that answers anything.

Ian’s brows furrow in confusion. “None of us know where we’re living yet,” he says, frustrating Liam more.

“But you’re all adults,” Liam replies. “What am I supposed to do?”

Realization hits Mickey, and it hurts more than anything else he’s gone through that day. The kid thinks they’ve all been planning to move on and leave him to fend for himself. Mickey knows what that feels like, and he wouldn’t want that for anyone, especially not Liam, who’s tied with Franny for his second favorite Gallagher.

Ian’s jaw drops in surprise, but he doesn’t say anything, watching Liam calm as he listens to Mickey.

“All you gotta do is pick one of your siblings,” Mickey tells him, silently cursing himself and the rest of the Gallaghers for assuming Liam already knew that. “The plan was always for you to be with one of us.”

Wrapping an arm around Liam, Ian pulls him in close. “Gallaghers stick together,” he promises. 

“I think your best bet is us,” Mickey adds. “But if you wanna go live with Lip and deal with a crying Fred or live with Franny and deal with a crying Debbie, that’s your problem.”

Liam cracks a smile at that. “Okay, I’ll think about it.”

-

_9:58 pm_

It’s a lot earlier in the night than they’re usually in bed, but both are ready to call it quits on the day. Between the early wake-up call, being left with all the responsibility for Terry, and the double punch of Liam’s confession and abandonment fears, they’ve been dealt one emotional blow after another.

“I can’t believe Liam thought he wasn’t going to live with one of us,” Ian comments, focusing on the lesser of Liam’s two issues for the night.

Mickey thinks about the apartment listings he has bookmarked on his phone. They’re all two bedrooms; he was already planning on the possibility of Liam living with them, and if not, he knows the other Gallaghers will probably make frequent appearances. He can picture it— Debbie dropping Franny off for sleepovers with her favorite uncle (and Ian). Carl being too drunk to head home after hanging out. Lip having to crash there for a night because he said something stupid and pissed off Tami. Fiona needing somewhere to stay when she finally makes it back to Chicago for a visit.

There’s something else all the apartments have in common. His search started and ended in the South Side. After today, he’s not sure that’s a good thing. “We should start looking outside of the neighborhood.”

“You want to ditch the South Side for the North Side?” Ian asks in disbelief.

“Fuck that,” Mickey protests, gently shoving Ian in the shoulder. “Was thinkin’ the West Side. We need to get Liam out of here. Your idiot brother gave him a gun to protect himself so he could be alone in the house.”

“Never thought I’d see the day Mickey Milkovich lectures about guns and minors.” Ian smirks, swerving out of the way before Mickey can knock into him again. 

“Ah, shut up with that shit,” Mickey grumbles. “You know what I mean.”

“Yeah, I do.” Ian’s smile slips. “The change would be good for him.”

“And I was thinking…” Mickey trails off, biting his lip. “Even if Liam decides not to come with us, maybe it’d be good for us anyway. To, uh, get out of here.”

“Yeah? I like the sound of that,” Ian grins. “I hope he does decide he wants to come with us, though. I’d be less worried about him.”

“Agreed.” Mickey looks away. “If he doesn’t… are you ready to give up living with your family to live with me?” He tries to make it sound like a joke, but his attempt falls flat.

“Shut up with that shit,” Ian uses Mickey’s words from earlier to tease him before turning serious. " _You're_ my family. I want to be where you are. I love you."

It’s nothing Ian hasn’t already told him plenty of times before but each time he does, Mickey starts to believe a little more that this life he somehow lucked into isn’t going to be pulled out from under him. “I love you, too.”

All of the issues will still be there in the morning. Mickey will still have a war of emotions raging inside him, most of which he can’t even put a name to. There’s still decisions to make about what to do with Terry. They’ll still need to figure out how to protect Liam.

But for now they can find comfort and safety in each other’s arms.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading my first attempt at a Shameless fic. Kudos & comments are appreciated. 🥰 
> 
> twitter: mariss_ugh


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